Harry on the Prairie

Chapter 11

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Honey do you love
as good as you look?
Can you satisfy your mind
like your body says you can?
Judging from the cover,
I'd love to read the book.
Honey do you love
as good as you look?

-The Bellamy Brothers

*****

FRANKIE:

"Sometimes you make me dizzy too, Frankie." Harry's shining green eyes looked into mine with ease, completely different from the way he was hiding from me only ten minutes ago. His hands touched my face with such care, like I was something so delicate that could shatter at any moment.

"Harry, I..." Why was I talking? What was I even going to say?

Harry leans toward me and I feel his breath on my cheek, and then his lips against my ear as he repeats himself in a whisper, "Sometimes you make me dizzy, too."

*****

HARRY:

I bite my lip as I look into her green eyes. I am nervous as all get-out. Would she let me kiss her? Should I ask or just do it? One glance at her pink lips and the problem I'd just solved minutes ago in my trousers is already back again.

Frankie looks at me in kind of an excited confusion. She did call my name out that night. That's it, I'm gonna do it. She wants me to do it, right?

I take a deep breath hoping to swallow some extra courage that might be drifting about out in the universe, and I begin to lean in for a kiss when Frankie squinches her nose up. Is it my breath?

"Do you smell that, Harry?" Frankie asks, distracted.

"It's my breath, isn't it?" I ask her outright like I'd just fell off the turnip truck yesterday.

Frankie gasps. It must be worse than I thought.

She pulls away from me and I hear her quick steps throughout the cabin and she's muttering something about a sausage.

Holy Mary Mother of God. Frankie knows I'm rock-hard for her.

"Our dinner, Harry!" I hear the creak of the cast-iron oven door open, and a relief washes over me like baptismal water when I realize she's talking about our dinner and not my tallywacker.

I lean in through the kitchen doorway, "Is it burnt?"

"Not yet, but I hope you like your taters crispy," Frankie laughs, busying herself gathering plates and silver.

"I'm not too hard to please," I reply.

She finally looks at me and I grin, a little embarrassed. Surely she knows I was gonna kiss her a minute ago.

"Are you feeling better now," she asks me. "Your color looks good."

Yeah, that's cause I'm embarrassed about my failed kiss attempt and the stiffness of my cock.

She reaches up and touches my cheek and then my forehead with the back of her hand, probably checking for fever. I catch a hold of her hand and bring it to my lips, leaving a feathery kiss on her knuckles.

"Thanks for worrying about me, Frankie."

She blushes about twenty shades of red, "Of course I worry about you, Harry. No need to thank me for it, neither."

She pulls her hand away, picks up the plates and utensils, and squeezes by me to get out to the table. I'm halfway blocking the door frame, but I don't bother to move.